Smiles
by nhsweetcherry
Summary: Fluffiness on Scott's birthday. (Sorry I'm late!)
_So for some reason, I have been unable to reply to any reviews left for my stories over the past couple days…so I'll take a second to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed – you're all amazing, and I greatly appreciate all of your feedback!_

 _And also, this story is ridiculous and fluffy and more than a week late for Scott's birthday…but oh well._

 _I do not own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story._

It's my birthday, and we're all hanging out in and around the pool. Even John has come down from Five for the occasion. We've just finished an epic game of volleyball, and I climb out of the water and flop down onto a lounger, a bit more out of breath than I'd care to admit.

Gordon notices, of course, and grins wickedly. "What's the matter, Scotty? Getting too _old_ for stuff like this?"

" _Ooh_ ," Alan exclaims, laughing.

"Uh, tell me again who just won that game?" I retort. "John, you want to help me out here?"

John speaks without looking up from his book. "You and Virg not only won, Scott…you _owned_ that game."

John had been our scorekeeper. I don't know how he had done it with his nose buried in a novel, but then, he's always been good at multitasking.

Virgil grabs the volleyball as it floats past him and neatly lobs it across the pool; it sails in a perfect arc and bounces off the top of Gordon's head. "Careful what you say, Gords. Remember, Scott's the birthday boy – he could've picked wrestling or something, and then you and Alan would have lost even more disgracefully."

Gordon makes a face. "Who wrestles on their _birthday_? This is way more fun!" He kicks off the side of the pool and grabs the ball. "Catch me if you can!" He dives, splashing water all the way to John's carefully-picked position well away from the pool.

John jumps as the droplets of water splatter against his book. He quickly grabs a towel and dries the book off, then glares toward the pool. "Brat," he growls. He swings his legs over the side of the lounger and rips his shirt off. "That was a signed first-edition…he's going to pay for getting it wet!" Flinging his sunglasses onto the side table, he stalks toward the water.

Alan spots him. "Watch it, Gordon!" he yells. "You got John wet! Here he comes!"

Gordon, who has just surfaced, looks over his shoulder and sees John bearing down on him. He lets out a high-pitched shriek and does some sort of ridiculous, cartoony stroke that doesn't actually get him anywhere.

As soon as John gets within arm's reach of him, though, Gordon suddenly shoots away. John follows relentlessly after him, like a slow but determined shark hunting down its prey.

Virgil leans back against the side of the pool, watching from a safe distance, while Alan laughs like a maniac and tries to splash Gordon and John in the face.

I watch as Gordon shoots away from John again, then turns to look behind him; what he doesn't realize is that John has dropped below the surface of the water.

Gordon spins in a wild circle, looking for John. Then his eyes open wide and we have a split second to enjoy the panic on his face before he's jerked underwater.

John holds him down just long enough to make his point. Gordon emerges after a few seconds, gasping and spluttering, but grinning from ear to ear. One thing you have to admit about Gordon – not only does he know how to give it, but he knows how to take it, too.

John bobs up a second later, his face lit up with a smug smile. "Gotcha," he says.

"Yes, you did. Nice one, Johnny," Gordon replies. Then he coughs pathetically and flops backward onto John. "I think you drowned me, though. Now you have to rescue me."

"All right," John says, "but it's been a while since I practiced this…am I doing it right?" He wraps his arm loosely around Gordon's neck.

Gordon squawks and thrashes wildly. "Virgil! Alan! Help!"

Virgil and Alan just laugh at him.

John tows Gordon around like that for a few minutes before releasing him. Then Gordon breaks out his stash of water guns, and things get pretty wild. I think about joining back in, but it's kind of fun to sit back and just watch them goof off like kids.

We had fired up the grill a little while earlier; now Grandma comes out of the house carrying a tray of steaks.

That's Virgil's cue. He shoots me a wink and hurries from the pool, all chivalry and good manners – "Those look amazing, Grandma! Want me to grill them?"

We all hold our breath. If Grandma doesn't accept Virgil's help, then we can kiss those beautiful steaks goodbye. I tense slightly, ready to signal Gordon and Alan to run for the fire extinguishers.

Grandma laughs. "Have at it, Virgil – I know how you boys like to grill. I need to go get the lemonade anyway!"

We all breathe a sigh of relief as she passes the tray over to Virgil.

Then there's a little flurry of activity as Grandma and my brothers work together to bring the rest of the food and supplies out to the patio table. I start to stand, unaccustomed to sitting while everyone else is working, but Alan spots me and points an accusing finger in my direction.

"Hey, you," he calls. "Stay put! You're not allowed to help on your birthday!"

I raise my hands in surrender and settle back down.

In truth, I'm quite content where I am. It's so rare for us all to get to spend time together that I've learned to enjoy the simple things, like watching my brothers smile and laugh as they interact with each other.

Alan's smile is full of the brilliant optimism of youth. It's quick to appear and hard to erase, and it never fails to make me feel like I just want to hug the kid – he may be a teenager now, but I don't think I'll ever be able to stop seeing him as my baby brother.

When Gordon smiles, his face lights up with life and energy, as if smiling is how he recharges. I think the energizing effect works on the rest of us too – on the rare days when Gordon isn't smiling, the island feels dull and lifeless, and everyone tiptoes around, trying not to shatter the fragile silence.

Virgil is one of those rare people whose smile happens mostly in his eyes. He's not given to big grins like Gordon or Alan; instead, his expressive brown eyes will glow with a warm, quiet kind of humor, and the corners of his mouth will quirk upward.

John's smile relaxes his often-too-serious face and makes him look younger. When he smiles, his eyes sparkle, but in a soft, subtle way, like the distant stars he spends so much time watching. I sometimes wish he would smile more often.

"Yo, Scott, you falling asleep over there? The steaks are ready. Come and eat!"

Suddenly realizing Gordon is shouting at me, I roll off the lounger, my stomach growling as I catch a whiff of the perfectly seared steaks. I slip into my place at the table, noticing that Kayo and Brains have joined us.

Alan plunks a party hat on my head and we dive into the meal, accompanied by the obligatory "When you were a kid…" stories, started by John of all people.

There's only one person missing, and as this occurs to me, I make sure to duck my head so no one can see the sadness in my eyes. _I miss you, Dad_.

I push that thought aside and refocus on the story John is telling. He's really getting into it, and as I look around and see all of my family members smiling, my mood shoots back up as quickly as it had plummeted.

I've learned a lot since joining International Rescue, and I've learned a whole lot more since Dad disappeared.

At the top of my list is to cherish every moment you get to spend with family, and that every chance you get to smile with them is a gift.

So I decide that the fact that I have my family with me – and smiling – makes this the best birthday ever.


End file.
